


Palatial Surroundings

by Geist



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Bodysuit, F/M, Furry, Human/Persona, Lamia, Metaverse, Monster Boy, Monster Girl, Multi, Palace, Sex, Sexual Content, Spitroast, Tail Sex, Threesome, Transformation, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, blowjob, fashion - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-06 17:31:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18855727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geist/pseuds/Geist
Summary: Futaba's got a plan: to undo the collapse of the Metaverse - at least as much of it as encompasses Leblanc's attic - and give herself and Akira their own Palace to play with. Will her latest and greatest experiment in congitive psience succeed? And just what will she and Akira get up to if it does?





	Palatial Surroundings

**Author's Note:**

> All characters are portrayed as 18+

The attic of Café LeBlanc looked considerably different. The floors had been swept, the shelves shoved aside, the great canvas sacks of coffee beans had been neatly knotted and safely stowed away downstairs. In place of the usual mix of trash and treasure, there was half something that looked like the control station for a nuclear power plant or similar scientific edifice, and half something that looked like an alchemist's laboratory. 

Looms of multicoloured cable hung from the rafters, splitting off to join a bank of backup batteries, while others connected the four parabolic antennas stationed at each corner of the room to each other and to the collection of laptops, mini server racks and more esoteric hardware clustered in the middle. On the occult side, a diagram of the Qliphoth was daubed on one wall, the Key of Solomon on the one across from it. The Elder Sign had been scrawled across the door, while around the computing equipment was, in neat white chalk, the square-girded circle of Hermes Trismestigus, surrounded by and inscribed with figures that were part mathematical equation and part eldritch symbol.

"This is, uh, impressive," Akira concluded, giving it a dubious once-over. The wiring looked very precise and professionally done, but he still had his concerns about those huge, energy-dense power packs. "It's not going to explode, is it?"

"This is the triumph of cognitive psience!" Futaba declaimed, standing in the midst of her work with her arms raised in proper mad scientist (or psientist) mode. "And the only thing it'll explode...is your mind! Mwehehehehe!"

She adjusted her glasses, grinned and winked. "So, whaddaya think?"

"Very nice, Miss Modern Prometheus. But what does it do?"

"Do? That's the beauty of it! It doesn't do anything." She paused for dramatic effect, then carried on. "I'm kidding. It totally does something. C'mon, let's fire it up, and I'll show you."

Careful not to knock anything over or to scuff the magic circle, Akira joined her at her post. She was already kneeling at her laptops, drinking in lines of green-on-black status reports as they scrolled endlessly past.

"All these symbols and things," Akira asked, "are they necessary?"

"Yes and no. They mostly just look cool, but because they look cool, they put us in the right mindset, which is essential for the tech to work. Cognitive psience, son."

"I see."

"Now hush up for a bit. I need to concentrate."

Knowing better than to bother Futaba when she was in hackerspace, Akira kept his mouth shut. He became aware of a rising electrical hum, then a loud thunk! as of a solenoid engaging that almost made him jump in surprise. The sound of a capacitor bank whined from the corners of the room, and a set of four LEDs, vertically arrayed on each antennae, blinked on: bottom first, then rising to the top.

"Primary power initialised," Futaba checklisted. "All systems nominal, voltage holding steady."

Now the antennae began to hum, and the air shimmered in front of their reflectors. The capacitor's whine continued to rise in pitch until it passed the range of human hearing, but Akira still heard it, buzzing away in the very centre of his brain.

"Local metaverse collapse reverted," said Futaba, "irreality nexus established, connection made to subject minds Futaba Sakura and Akira Kurusu."

"Connection?" Akira murmured. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of Futaba's machines messing with his mind.

"Just a phrase," she said, waving a dismissive hand. 

Akira wasn't reassured. The text on her monitors was twisting and warping in a way that computer text absolutely shouldn't, and ghostly glyphs similar to the ones on the walls flickered across the displays, hovering above the screen's surface rather than making use of the liquid crystals beneath.

"Hold on! The transition might be a little rough. Metaverse changeover in 3, 2, 1-"

There was an otherworldly lurch of the sort Akira had experienced when he'd travelled into the metaverse before, a coldness, a disorientation. The attic dissolved in blobs of red and black and for a moment, he and Futaba were left in a total void.

"Futaba?"

"Just wait."

A light appeared in the darkness. A small, far off, green light that, all of a sudden, shot towards them, flickering over the 'floor', dragging a neon trail behind it. It zipped beneath Akira's feet and continued on into the distance. All around, similar lights appeared, and in a blaze of radiance criss-crossed over one another, establishing the walls, floor and ceiling of an immense space in neat, regular grids.

Futaba stood with her hands behind her back, watching her strange new world building itself with an air of satisfaction. Strangely, though the grid-lines were very bright, she didn't seem to have any greenness reflecting from her, instead appearing to be lit by an invisible sun. As was he, Akira supposed, examining his hands.

"Here we are," said Futaba. "Welcome to my Palace."

"Palace? It...doesn't look like your old one. You don't have distorted desires again, do you."

"Nope." She paused. "Well, only the usual ones. But this is different. This is my techno-Palace. Created from our minds, controlled by machines. We're in charge."

"You mean, I can do this?" Akira asked. He concentrated for a second, and blue flames coruscated from his feet to his head, burning away his jeans and t-shirt and replacing them with the elegant tuxedo-thing he'd worn as a Phantom Thief. He grinned, clicked his fingers, and his old mask appeared in his hand. His glasses went into his pocket, and he pressed the mask to his face. For a moment, his eyes glowed yellow before returning to their usual grey.

"Ohhhhh yeah!" Futaba cheered. "Joker's back! God, I've been wanting to see you in that getup again for years."

"Suits me, huh?" He posed, and an invisible wind made his jacket's tails billow dramatically.

"It's not just clothes, either." Futaba turned, pointing at each of the walls.

Flickering in with a glitchy, blocky effect, like slow-loading video game textures, walls appeared. Beneath their feet, floorboards sprang into existence, made of some rare wood and polished to a high gloss, while luxurious furnishings faded in around them, chief among them a huge canopied bed. A roof above completed the effect. Sloped and raftered, it looked rather like Leblanc's attic, except for the fact that the attic's windows weren't floor-to-ceiling slabs of glass, and they certainly didn't command a view of Tokyo at night from the height of a skyscraper penthouse.

"Nice," Akira said, running his gloved finger over a ridiculously antique table. It felt real enough. Then again, the Palaces they'd robbed always had.

Futaba nodded and turned her attention to herself. With the same glitchy effect, her clothes changed, and her t-shirt and shorts became a different t-shirt and shorts. Emboldened by this wild experimentation, she began to flick through all the clothes she could remember having in her wardrobe, mixing and matching blouses and trousers, skirts and jackets, boots and dresses. Some of her choices seemed to owe more to imagination than reality; Akira was pretty sure she didn't own a velvet smoking jacket, for one, or a pair of bright pink cowgirl boots emblazoned with rhinestones.

From there she extended her options to the wider world of fashion, or what she knew of it. Riotous Harajuku styles, gothic lolita dresses in black and white, elegant suits and long ball gowns, one so encrusted with diamonds that she staggered under its weight. In leather punk gear and ripped jeans, she made the discovery she could change her hair too, turning it jet black with eye-searing green streaks, then back to its usual ginger. Mascot costumes followed, animals and landmarks of every kind and from every prefectures, and she could hardly pass up the chance to be a Feather Ranger, now could she? Akira smiled, as in the full-face helmet and blazing red jumpsuit she went through a set of very badly mimed martial arts moves.

"Wow, those suits are warmer than you'd think," she said, popping out of her Ranger outfit and back into her normal clothes, flushed and panting slightly. "Hmm."

A moment later and she was dressed in something calculated to engage Akira's interest. A tight tube top clung to her chest, narrow enough to expose a svelte swathe of her chest and belly, while a miniskirt hung low on her hips and didn't descend too far below them. The black strap of a thong rose in twin arches from beneath its silver-studded belt.

"How do I look?" Futaba asked, clasping her hands together above her head and stretching onto her tiptoes in a very limber manner.

"It's not your usual style," Akira said, "but, pretty good."

"Heheh, I'll bet."

She glitched again and gave herself a skimpy backless cocktail dress with a frilled out skirt and a plunging, cleavage-exposing neckline. Not that she had much cleavage to expose, but Akira appreciated the effort.

"Are you trying to seduce me, Ms. Sakura?"

"Maybe. Is it working?"

"I could stand to see a little more."

So Futaba showed him, alternately, a little more, then a lot more, starting with increasingly skimpy dresses and outfits, then moving on to lingerie and swimsuits. The 'leotard' she conjured up made entirely out of purple ribbons criss-crossing her body definitely caught his eye, as did the tight lace teddy with the gauzy skirt floating around her thighs. Likewise, the extremely tiny white bikini was a favourite, and the corset and long boots with nothing but black tape covering her nipples and crotch had him feeling distinctly hot under the collar and constricted in the pants. She seemed particularly taken with the club bunny suit she conjured up: a black, shiny leotard, fishnets on her legs and a fluffy white cotton ball tail.

"Have to remember that one," she muttered, flickering to her next choice.

At last, though, she returned to an old favourite: her thief suit, complete with the bug-like night vision goggles pushed up on her forehead. She waved her arm at a patch of air and made it reflective, checked herself out, frowned. The dark parts of her suit turned translucent, leaving the neon green lines shot through it imperfectly preserving her modesty. A logistical problem seemed to have occurred to her, too. Thin seams like those on a ziplock bag appeared between her legs and across her breasts. Akira swallowed.

"Seen enough yet?" Futaba asked.

In response, Akira crossed over to her, swept her squealing into his arms and carried her over to the bed, while she laughed and wriggled against him. He tossed her down to the cloudy mattress and leapt in after her, throwing back his arms, his jacket flying off him as if it had a mind of its own. His tie wriggled like a snake, unknotted itself and hung loose around his neck, while his shirt popped open button by button, falling open so Futaba could reach up and caress his finely muscled chest.

He shifted his weight and bore her down to the bed, stretching himself across her, his lips finding her neck, his body conforming to hers. Her suit was exquisitely smooth against his bare chest, and her warmth suffused it as though it was her own skin. She groaned beneath him, sliding her hands down his sides and onto his arse, squeezing through his trousers, while, with absolute care, he let his teeth graze her skin, his tongue dabbing the patch he'd caught between them. Shivering, she wriggled against him, adjusting her position such that they were able to press even closer together.

Her hand, as if by coincidence, ended up squeezed between their thighs, and Akira felt it squiggle a couple of inches to his left and alight on his crotch. He'd realised he was hard, but her touch really brought it home: cock throbbing against her fingers as she curled them around the tent in his pants.

"Don't think we need much more foreplay," said Futaba, slowly rubbing him. He tensed, whimpering, and she felt out his cockhead with her thumb. Finding his tip, she circled it, while she caught his wrist with her other hand and guided his between them, down to the vale of her thighs.

"Feel me," she demanded.

Crucible heat surrounded his fingers, and though the metamaterial of her suit should have been waterproof, his mind supplied the impression of slick, sultry wetness. With his index fingertip, he traced her mound, around and down and over. It was her turn to stiffen, her hand tightening on his dick, and a gasp escaped through her clenched jaw.

A faint raised ridge running down the length of her slit was the seam she'd introduced to her suit. Worrying at it with his thumbnail, he prised it open, and it split apart with barely any extra help from him, exposing Futaba's naked pussy to his inquisitive fingers. Now when he touched her he didn't have to imagine her wetness. She practically drooled over him, her petals parting at his passing. He pushed two fingers into her and felt her heat, her tightness, her walls pulsing around him. Pumping them back and forth, he got her writhing, crying out for something more substantial, while in turn she moved her hand ever more urgently over his cock and got him moaning for her.

"Dick. Now," Futaba said. Akira wasn't going to argue. He raised himself off her, let her unzip his trousers and yank down his metaverse-supplied black silk boxers. She seized his cock like a trophy and pistoned her hand along its length.

"It feels bigger," Akira said. "Did you do that, or is it some subconscious thing?"

"Dunno. Could be both of us. Right now, who cares?"

Good question. Bigger or not, it was attached to him, painfully hard and filling him with the desperate need to stick it somewhere. To that end he brought himself back down to Futaba, nestling his hips against hers. She kept a firm grip on him, guiding his prick to her pussy, rubbing it against her sticky lips until his glans shared their slickness. With shaky, barely-controlled slowness, she dragged his cock down to her opening.

Akira sank into her almost the instant he was able, an impulsive twitch of his hips burying half his length in her with one thrust. Futaba screamed, letting her legs fall wide open for him, and he adjusted himself so he was able to bottom out in her more gradually, savouring the sensation of her quim creeping up him, until her folds were squished against his pubis and his cockslit rested in her depths, drooling precum into her, an intimation of the flood that was to come.

That was the last bit of slowness they allowed themselves for a while. Futaba caught Akira's shoulders, sinking her nails into his skin, and dragged him down to her for a tumultuous, tongue-tussling kiss, dancing in each other's mouths, all spit and sloppy sucking noises and confusion as to who was who. Down below, he pumped his cock into her with ever increasing speed and force, his body undulating with his thrusts. Pleasure piled up in his prick and his balls until it broke through, wrapping around his spine and making a spirited play for his brainstem. He was certain that if he'd gone at this pace in the real world he'd have climaxed in seconds, leaving Futaba very put out, but here he could be as selfish and, consequently, as selfless as he liked. Futaba squealed at every stroke, and he found himself groaning with her, particularly when she ducked down to suck and lick at his nipples.

Her attention to his chest made Akira realise that he was neglecting two fairly important parts of her. He reared back a bit, taking more of his weight on his knees, and planted his hands on her tits, curving his palms until he achieved that familiar, perfect fit. Her hard little teats pressed into his skin, and he tugged at her suit until one nipple contoured a green tron-line, making a hillock of the rubbery-spandex whatever-the-hell-it-was, while the other was a titillating blur beneath grey translucency. The material was just about painted on as it was, but when he pulled it in even tighter her pinky-brown areola resolved itself into mouth-watering clarity, and there was nothing he could do but fall open it and envelop it in his mouth. 

Meanwhile, he went scurrying round her other tit, seeking out the opening she'd added there. Finding it, he worked it apart and sent his hand slithering into her suit. It clung to his hand as affectionately as it did to her body, trapping him against her sweaty flesh. There were, he reflected, far worse places to be trapped. He dug his fingers into her sparse boob, flattening it back against her chest, kneading and rolling it and just generally enjoying the sounds Futaba made as he tweaked one nipple and sucked hard at the other.

Futaba squirmed beneath him, raising herself up of the sheets, thrusting against him such that he could make his strokes longer, deeper. Each impact between their bodies made them both cry out, shared pleasure crackling between them, pushing them onward until Futaba was trembling beneath him, her legs flung up, feet resting on the backs of his knees. She was holding back, he knew; she was going to cum, it was just a matter of how soon and how hard. And from the way his balls clenched and his cock tightened into a solid, insistent core of need, he knew he was in the same position. He let that need take over, hammering Futaba back down to the bed, biting his lip until he tasted blood in his effort to eke out every last bit of bliss.

Futaba let go of her resistance and grabbed hold of Akira. Screaming, shaking, she shoved her hands under his shirt, dragging her hands down his back, scoring him with her nails, marking him as hers, as he took her for himself. A roar that guttered into a whimper, and he unloaded in her quivering cunt, flooding her with far more cum than he ever produced in reality. Each huge burst of the stuff brought with it a dizzying zap of ecstasy, and his arms and legs weakened with each one, sending him sinking lower, until with the last trickle of his seed he was flattened across Futaba's body. He laid there, head resting on her shoulder, while his sweat slowly glued him to her bodysuit and a puddle of jizz seeped out between them.

Futaba stirred from her orgasmic coma, and gave him a giddy grin. "Hey."

"Hey."

"Get off me, my legs are going numb."

"Yeah they are."

She punched him gently in the shoulder. "'Cos you're cutting off my circulation, dummy."

"Yeah I - oww! Okay, okay."

With a theatrical groan, Akira rolled off her, tugging his semi-hard cock from her pussy with an accompanying dam-burst of cum and juice.

"Mmm," she murmured, putting one hand on his dick, giving it an affectionate, 'well done' sort of rub. The other she rested on her mound, idly fingering herself, feeling out just how full she was. Akira, turning his head to watch her and listen to her squishy shlicking noises, felt his cock twitch and reverse its descent towards flaccidity.

"When did you last cum like that?" Futaba asked, lifting a blob of their mess to her face, scrutinising the way it glistened between her fingers.

"When have I ever cum like that?" he replied, partly to himself. "Metaverse, huh?"

"Pretty sick, right?"

Futaba wiped off her fingers in Akira's hair, prompting an outraged squawk from him. He grabbed a pillow and whapped it across her face, prompting a similar, if more muffled yowl from her. There followed a spirited tussle which ended up with Akira's jacket and shirt scattered to the four winds, and his trousers and underwear wrapped around his knees. The latter proved his downfall, as Futaba took advantage of his attempts to struggle out of them and flipped him onto his back, taking a triumphant seat on his stomach.

"You know," she said, leaning over him, her bum and nethers lovely and warm on his skin, "I didn't just bring you here so you could fuck me silly and get totally pwned by me at wrestling."

"No?"

"Nope."

A pause. "So?" Akira said, when things became awkward.

"Ehh, it's kind of embarrassing. And you might not be into it."

"Go on."

"I can do pretty much anything here, right?"

"So it seems."

"Apart from one thing."

"Which is?"

"Summon Personas. I tried, when we first got here. Well, except for Prometheus, I can feel him waiting to come out. I guess I could call him up and have a chat, some time? But he's not quite what I had in mind."

Akira reached up and gripped Futaba's waist, stroking towards his stomach with his thumbs. "And for the others, you need me, the cosmic Fool, he who makes his own destiny."

"You're a fool alright."

"And if I summon you a Persona," he said, smirking, "what then."

"I want to-" Futaba blushed, looked away and murmured something inaudible.

"Hmm?"

"Oh, come on! Some of them are hot. I want to fuck one!"

"Fuck one?"

"Yes!"

"An inhuman demon of the mind?"

"Yes...?"

"In front of your loving, devoted partner?"

"You could join in. If you wanted."

Akira reared up, sending Futaba tumbling backwards. He caught her before she fell, held her tight and kissed her deep.

"You're a pervert, you know that?" he said, once tongues and lips were disengaged.

"Well, yeah. Are we doing this or not?"

He patted her leg, and she climbed off him. Swinging himself down from the bed, Akira kicked off his clinging pants, vanished his shoes and socks and struck his traditional Persona-summoning pose, hoping it looked as impressive with him in his natural state as it did when he was in tie and tails. Futaba's giggle suggested it didn't, but her avid gaze equally hinted that she was enjoying the show.

"So who are we getting? Satan? Belphegor?"

"Uh, how about-" Futaba stood up on the bed. Her bodysuit flickered and disappeared, leaving her naked for a moment before glitchy pixelated patches and technomantic symbols flickered around her, resolving themselves into a new outfit.

It was a bikini, mostly, but with a short, gauzy golden skirt hanging from her hips, open in front. Her bra and bottoms were made of red, overlapping scales that glinted lustrously, and her hair had tied itself back in a high ponytail, cascading down her back like a burning waterfall.

"Ah," Akira said, after a quick swallow and a moment to remoisten his lips. "I get it. Something scaly. Kohryu? Naga?"

Futaba shook her head, her new hairdo swaying behind her. "Nope. Close."

"Lamia, then."

"Bingo."

He stretched out his hand, reached into the sea of souls, and called her.

"Lamia!"

Akira felt the surge of power, felt the ancient memeplex-tangle of thought and feeling and hunger that was Lamia flow through him and out into this pseudo-world. Blue flames blazed before him, forming into a long, serpentine shape. It resolved itself into a snake's tail, glittering with burnished red scales, rippling with powerful muscle beneath the pale plates of its underbelly. At its widest point, the tail tapered into the buxom form of a woman's body. She was pale, dark haired and possessed of an otherworldly beauty, though her eyes were yellow, her pupils thin vertical slits.

"Ahhhh," Lamia sighed, stretching. Her godivarine hair slithered - definitely the right word - over her naked breasts.

"How good it is to be enfleshed once more." She blinked, slowly, her gaze drifting over Futaba and Akira. "Ah, the Fool," she added, with an ironic chuckle. "I take it I have you to thank for my summoning?"

"I prefer Joker to Fool," Akira said. "And yes. But the Oracle here was the one who reopened this part of the metaverse."

Futaba waved. "Hey."

"Ingenious." Lamia coiled her tail beneath her, settling back like a queen reclining on her throne. "How clever you humans have become. And yet I sense you have called me for a different purpose than the usual ones."

"Because you're a part of our local noosphere and thus formed, in part, from our thoughts?" Futaba asked. "Fascinating. I'll have to-"

"Yes, something like that. Also because he's naked, you're dressed in...that, and-" she flicked out a forked tongue, tasted the air "-mmm, the place stinks of sex and desire."

Futaba deflated somewhat. "Yeah, that too, I guess."

"I suppose our question is," said Akira, "do you want to join in?"

Lamia smiled. "I am thou," she said. "Come to me, my dears."

Futaba and Akira converged on Lamia, embracing her, welcoming her to their threesome and exploring their new playmate. Akira ran his hand down her side, over her svelte stomach, onto her hip and over, marvelling at how she went from mammalian warmth to reptilian coolness as her skin transitioned into scales.

An 'mmph' made him look back up. Futaba and Lamia were locked in a deep kiss; Futaba having brushed aside Lamia's hair to grope at her breasts, while Lamia had a grip on Futaba's ponytail, using it to make her submissively tilt her head up to meet Lamia's lips. Lamia's free hand was down on Futaba's arse, squeezing her round little bum through gauze and scales, until she lifted it slightly and dipped it straight down into Futaba's bottoms.

Lamia parted from Futaba, leaving her panting and look quite awestruck. Her tongue lashed out, caressed Futaba's cheek for a second, then she turned her attention to Akira. She grabbed his prick with a suddenness that made him jump, squeezed it and used it to tug him closer. Pressing a quick, fierce kiss on him, her slender tongue worming around inside his mouth, its forks tickling him, she rubbed his cock from its tip to his balls, smearing it with what remained of his cum and Futaba's wetness.

"Such a lovely, thick, swollen cock," she crooned, abruptly pulling her mouth away from his. "I hope your love won't mind if I take my pleasure from it?"

"Nnn - not me," said Futaba. Lamia had shifted her hand round to the front of her bikini briefs, and from the way her fingers shifted beneath the scaly fabric, and the way Futaba clung to Lamia's shoulder, Akira guessed she was becoming the proverbial putty.

He was beginning to feel the same way, as Lamia pumped his dick, peeling back his foreskin so she could grind her palm against his glans and get it all slicked up with precum. With most of his awareness centred on his dick, her barely noticed her coiling her thick, powerful lower body around his legs, crushing him in close against herself. Slipping her hand out of Futaba's bikini, she gave her the same treatment with the parts of her tail that were further away, wrapping the slender, dextrous parts of herself multiple times around Futaba's legs. From up between those inescapable bonds came the very tip of her tail, tapered to a rounded point. It pressed against Futaba's crotch, gliding back and forth, and she gasped, flopping forward, wriggling against the solid expanse of scales encasing her. Lamia continued to wind her coils up Futaba's body, stopping only when she was wrapped right up to her stomach, so that she looked like a kind of lamia herself.

"Two sweet morsels to enjoy," Lamia said, twisting Akira in her grasp so that he was forced to look back at her, into her unblinking reptilian eyes.

Strange as she was, there was something intensely alluring about her. Akira enfolded her in his arms, squeezing her as she squeezed him, albeit with a little less strength. Her breasts flattened themselves against his chest, and he drove his tongue into her mouth, taking the lead with their kiss this time. She bit his lip with a set of sharp but, thankfully, non-venomous teeth, letting him feel their prickle but not quite penetrating his flesh.

Speaking of penetrating, from behind him there came a scream, as if something smooth, prehensile, and sinuous had pushed aside her bikini bottoms and wriggled its way into her pussy. Her continued moans and whimpers and pleas for more confirmed Akira's suspicions.

"Hahh," Lamia exhaled. "Your love is so warm. And how about you, hmm?" 

She squirmed against him, and he felt something dripping down his leg. He struggled too look, and she peeled him away from herself, letting him get a peek. Her quim was a puffy slit across her belly scales, firmly in the snake half of her body, but, from what he'd felt, it was as hot as the rest of her human parts. She pulled him back in, and this time, his dick skidded across her waiting hole, getting a thick coat of snake oil as it went past.

Lamia shifted herself so her scaled lips split apart around his shaft, kissing him there while she kissed her way across his face. Slick as a melting icicle and far warmer, with her next undulation his cock caught against her opening and slid straight in.

Lamia arched back in a way that only someone with half a snake for a lower body could have achieved, a hissing groan escaping through her teeth. Her tail tightened, spasmed, and Akira heard Futaba scream blissfully. She flopped against him, hands on his shoulders, her hair tickling his back.

"You can't imagine how good this feels," she murmured.

"Actually I - hah - I think I can," he replied, as Lamia clenched her tunnel around his prick, wringing the precum out of him.

"Warmth like the desert sun on my tail," said Lamia, weaving her way around Akira to run her hand up Futaba's chest, rolling her tits under diligent, long-fingered hands. Futaba moaned and eagerly pushed herself forward, letting Lamia pinch her nipples and favour her with a kiss.

"And a hard, potent cock inside me." She made a slow thrust.

Akira whined as she dragged herself off his dick. Thick bands of internal muscle rolled over it one by one, until a careless movement would have seen him popping back out of her. Then down again, dribbles of her wetness sluicing from the infinitesimal gap between his flesh and hers, until he was buried in her as deep as he could go, balls resting against her belly-plates.

"Mmm, a demon could do far worse."

And that was really all that needed to be said. Why truck with crude words when glorious carnality was so much more eloquent? The way Lamia wriggled, using her tail to squeeze him against her human parts, made it hard for Akira to tell whether he was fucking her or whether she was fucking him or even if there was any meaningful distinction. Gamely, though, he made the attempt to drive himself into her, working his legs against the steel grip of her coils. 

He and Futaba were Lamia's playthings, and he was happy in the role. All he had to do was keep fucking, let the pleasure engulf him. He explored Lamia's body, running his hands down her smooth and, he noted, perfectly sweat-free back, down to where her hips widened, flaring out into her serpentine half. She had something that could have been called a butt, before it became the undifferentiated sleekness of her scales, and he dug his hands into it, moulding skin and scales and the vague interface between them under his fingers. This new grip let him use his arms as leverage to push harder against her, offering himself to her with every bit of his strength. Faster, until he was breathless, until she was alternately groaning for him, leaning up towards the heavens, and draping herself over his shoulder to whisper sinful things in his and Futaba's ears.

Futaba herself came multiple times before Akira even came close to his limit, though he put that down to Lamia's skill rather than his stamina. She clung panting to his back, her breath hot on his neck, bouncing on Lamia's tail-tip as best she could with her legs caught up in their scaly prison. Her voice was a constant whimper, rising as she reached each peak and her fingers tightened like talons around Akira's arms. Periodically she'd reach round him to paw at Lamia, eager to get a taste of her perfect upper body, and Lamia always tenderly took hold of her hands and guided them to her breasts, breathing out a slow, satisfied gasp as Futaba envied and enjoyed her gorgeous tits.

The closer she got to her finish, the tighter Lamia wound her coils, the harder she tailfucked Futaba and rippled her wet, powerful inner walls around Akira's cock. He was finding it hard to concentrate on his strokes, such as they were; Lamia now gripped him so firmly he could barely move his legs. On top of that, he was devoting most of his brainpower to keeping his throbbing cock and balls from letting go, heaven though it'd be to abandon himself to his instincts and seed that snaky cunt. He didn't dare think about what'd happen if sent Lamia back to the sea of human mentation unsatisfied. 

Futaba's peaks became an entire mountain range: an endless succession of quick, hard orgasms. Her screams were near-constant, muffled as she buried her face in Akira's shoulder, quivering against him. He heard the slap and squelch of solid, scaly flesh hammering her well-reamed pussy, coupled with the noise of his balls whapping over and over against Lamia's taut belly plates, the squish as he thrust into her or, more accurately, she thrust herself upon him.

"Sssssweet morssssel," Lamia crooned to Futaba, the faint sibilants that had accompanied her esses become a full-blown hiss. "Come for me, preciousssss."

A twist of Lamia's tail, and Futaba lifted her head from Akira's shoulder and howled as if all her previous climaxes had hung around in her body, only to merge together and tear themselves from her twat and her belly and her lungs and her throat in one immense bundle. Futaba convulsed for a second before she fell into a panting, messy, hair-straggled heap against Akira's back, struck dumb by theis biggest of little deaths.

"And now you, blesssssed Joker."

She threw herself herself him, buffeting him with herself, her snake body flexing and writhing, grinding his cock in her hole, while her upper body wasn't much less mobile. Her nipples were hard points pressing against his chest, her tongue flickered across his cheeks, her hair tumbled over his head and shoulders, mingling with Futaba's orange tresses. She came quickly and suddenly, without warning, just a harsh scream, pussy squeezing around Akira's cock.

That wasn't all that got squeezed. In her throes, Lamia constricted her captives, and they shrieked as her coils crushed their legs. She loosened herself, apologetically, but Akira was beyond the pain by then. His balls clenched, putting forth an unearthly quantity of cum like they had before, and his cock erupted, pumping the stuff right to the back of Lamia's pussy, painting her walls until it dripped from her in great, steamy globs. It rolled from her opening as Akira's cock slipped from her, leaking down her belly plates. Akira's dick continued to spurt, splattering over her stomach and her tail, and the pleasure scythed up through his body and cut away his higher functions, leaving him drooling against Lamia's chest until, gradually, they regrew.

Lamia unfurled herself, and Akira and Futaba slipped from her grasp and collapsed gently to the floor. Resting on her own tail, Lamia invited them to do the same, and they cuddled up to her well-warmed scales, where she wrapped them in her arms and favoured them with kisses and praise.

Recovered, presently, Akira and Futaba stood, and Lamia raised herself back up, swaying slightly.

"It has been far too long since I was summoned for so pleasant a task," she said, the hiss gone from her voice. 

She kissed Futaba's cheek, who blushed and looked quite bashful for someone who'd just had a part of the kisser's body lodged inside them. Akira got the same.

"A magnificent Fool," she said. "Or Joker, I suppose. I will be with you. Look for me when you and your love turn to each other with lust in your hearts."

And she was gone, the faint impression of her lips still lingering on Akira's cheek.

"Well, she was nice," said Futaba, brightly.

Akira turned to her. She was dripping with sweat, her hair clung damply to her back and her front. She'd lost her bikini bottoms, and her top hung unhelpfully from her chest, one strap broken. Her pussy was a distended, fucked-out mess, glistening red, and her pubes were matted down with her wetness. Her legs were pink where Lamia's scales had rubbed her, and yet more juices dribbled in sticky streamers from her snatch and rolled down her thighs. She looked, in fact, like she was ready for a good shower and a nap, but her eyes were still glittering and there was a naughty smile playing across her face. Akira knew immediately what she wanted.

"So, who's next?" he asked, as casually as he could.

"Hmm. You remember that bunny suit?" Futaba glitched herself into the leotard and fishnets combo of her club bunny outfit. "How about the real thing?"

"Real thing? Like, a mascot?"

"Close. I think this'll work."

She closed her eyes, struck a pose, opened them again and winked at Akira. "You ready for this?"

"I guess."

"Fursona!" she cried, executing a spin and a flourish.

The air blurred and pixelated madly around her, glyphs crawling like worms in the distorted space. For a moment Akira tensed himself to rush in and pull her out, fearing something had gone wrong. A second later, the technomantic weirdness began to subside.

As it faded, Akira could see what she'd done to herself. 

She'd kept her hair, but that was about the most recognisable part of her. Everywhere else, she was covered in a downy layer of pale, creamy ginger fur, save for her nipples and the innermost edges of her pussy. The latter she'd cognitive psienced back to a clean and pristine state, all ready to get messed up again. Her face was where she'd worked the real magic. It could have been a horror straight out of the uncanny valley. Instead it was adorable. Two little buck teeth protruded from her mouth. Her nose was pink and upturned, twitching as she sniffed the air. And a pair of long, floppy ears protruded from her head, drooping down over her hair. 

"You're-" Akira paused and composed himself, scarcely able to believe his eyes. He reminded himself he's seen far weirder. "You're a rabbit." 

"Yep. Cottontail and all." She turned, bent over and wiggled the little puff just above her butt at him.

"And that's all real?" he asked, as she span back round and faced him again. 

She stuck out her arm. "Feel." 

Futaba's fur was velvet under Akira's fingers, and the more he stroked her, the more he loved it. He swept her into his arms and held her tight, warm, living fur tickling his naked skin, and cherished her for her genius and her imagination. And, he reflected, kissing her and sliding his hand down her silky back, over her tail, onto her bum, there were plenty of other things about her to cherish, too. 

"Wow," she said, when she was able. "Maybe I should've bought a fursuit years ago, if it gets you like this."

"I don't think that'd be the same." 

"Yeah." She took his hand and guided it to her stomach, where he rubbed it in small circles, ruffling up her fur and smoothing it down again. "I wouldn't be able to feel you stroking me. Mmm, it's nice." 

"You didn't transform yourself into a bunny just so I could pet you, did you?"

"Nope." She grinned, and with her elongated incisors (check) that was a sight to see. "You know what rabbits are famous for, don't you?" 

"Living on the moon?"

"The other thing."

"Ah," said Akira, smiling back at her. "That." 

"Mmhmm"

"And are we going to have someone join us? Nekomata, maybe?" he added, hopefully.

"If it's all the same to you, I wanna get some Persona dick."

"Hmm. Then how about...Ose."

"Yeah! Perfect."

Akira nodded, and stepped back, fixing Ose in his mind. A cunning spirit of power and war, but Akira was sure he could be tempted towards other ends. He called him. Akira's heart pounded with the thrill and terror of battle, and he tasted steel on his tongue, heard the ring of swords meeting and the roar of armies clashing.

There was the blue flame, and there was Ose, a crouched shape of muscle and sinew and fur, his mouth open in a razor-toothed snarl, his swords already in hand, eyes darting around for the fight.

"Where's my foe!?" he demanded, a growl underlying his words. "They shall fall upon my blade!"

He straightened, upon analysing the situation, and assumed a more relaxed posture, though he kept his swords in hand.

"But this is a bedchamber, not a battlefield," he grumbled, catching Akira with a sharp glance. "Whyfor have you summoned me here, O Fool?"

"Joker," Akira corrected, wearily.

"Hrmm. Why then, O Joker, have you summoned me? There is no conquest here, no glory to be had."

Futaba fielded that one. "In one sense, no. In another..." She spread her arms, let Ose get a good look at her naked, fuzzy body.

If Ose was surprised by her appearance, he didn't show it. He turned up a corner of his upper lip, exposing a fang.

"'Tis true that a warrior is versed in the arts of love as well as war. Do you seek for me to satisfy you, little rabbit? Is your Joker not up to the task?"

"Eh, he's alright. Between the two of you, you might manage it."

"Hah!" Ose, for a cat man, had a bark of a laugh. "We shall see."

Carefully, he scabbarded his swords and laid them on the floor, then straightened up and did something to the metal loincloth thing that served him both as scant armour and modesty. It fell to the boards with a thumb and a hollow clang, and he stepped out of it to show them his entire pantherine glory.

Ose's cock was unsheathing itself, a thick fearsome thing with a ring of keratinous barbs just beneath its head. In the real world, Akira would would have worried for Futaba's comfort, but here he suspected she'd enjoy those fine prickles raking her inner walls. She was trembling gently, and her nose was twitching ever more rapidly. Form defined function, and it looked like she'd taken on more rabbit-nature than she'd intended. What did a rabbit feel when faced with a fierce predator? But there on her thigh, staining her fur as it trickled down, was a glistening runnel of her moisture. What did a rabbit feel when her season hit and the urge to breed and breed and breed some more took over?

Flicking her ears up, Futaba turned from Ose and slowly bent over. She raised her tail, and reached behind herself to spread her arse, presenting herself to her mate. Akira, envious of Ose's view, sidled round to get a glimpse of her pussy - or more appropriately, cunny, he supposed - gleaming pink and wet between her fluffy thighs, her index fingers pointed down to pull her lips apart.

Ose made an appreciative noise in the back of his throat and reached out, grasping one of her cheeks and leaving ruffled trails in her fur with his clawed fingers. She gasped as he squeezed, letting his claws bite her skin through her fur, and slipped downwards to clamp his hand over her twat, driving his thumb into her. She wailed, drooling her juices into his fur and hers. He pumped her, roughly, his hand rocking against her mound, his finger tight around her clit, which protruded from between them like a perfectly cut gemstone.

"Ready, aren't you? Slut-rabbit, nibbler of grass. You want this warrior's cock, don't you?"

Futaba's answer came in the form of a long, longing moan, her ears settling submissively over her back again. Ose growled, grabbed her waist with both hands and pulled her against him. He seized her tail and yanked her up onto her tiptoes, prompting a squeak from her and then another moan as his cock rubbed her slit. Bending it down beneath her, he made a few feinting thrusts, frotting himself between her thighs and her ever more wet, puffy mound, soaking himself in her own natural lube. 

His next stroke was for real. One smooth thrust, and he had his cock sunk in her, and Futaba gasped at her sudden fullness. He dragged himself out of her slowly, purring with his own pleasure, her lips cling to his prick, smearing their wetness down his entire length. They snagged on his barbs, and Futaba was screaming, moaning, writhing and twisting, begging him to take her like the predator he was. Ose obliged, slapping himself against her again, bouncing her forward with a scream and a gasp.

Seeing such a powerful creature take his beloved had Akira diamond hard in seconds. He positioned herself by her head, her mouth open and panting, her tongue lolling out beneath her buck teeth. When he offered her his cock she took it in an instant, snatching it up and rubbing it as if she was buffing a stubborn piece of brass. She'd developed soft, paw-like pads on her palms and fingers, which she squished against his shaft, while those on her other hand she used to polish his knob until there were covered with his precum. She let a blob of it bead at his cockslit and leaned forward, lapping it up with her delicate tongue.

Futaba took Akira's prick almost by accident. A particularly powerful thrust from Ose bucked her forward, she opened her mouth to gasp, and the tip of it popped between her lips.

She 'mmph'ed around it, but made no effort to pull back. Rather, she leaned down to engulf a little more, resting her hands on Akira's thighs for support. Exquisitely careful not to scrape him with her oversized incisors, she pushed herself down onto him. With her reshaped mouth, she wasn't able to make quite as tight a seal as she usually did, but she kept her cheeks nice and hollow so that she merely had to tilt her head to have his tip rub against their soft, smooth linings.

With half his prick in her mouth, she looked up at him, a smile in her brown eyes, her front teeth protruding adorably out, ears raised a little so that now they flopped down beside her head. She looked paradoxically serene, for all that Ose was growling and rutting away at her backside, making her legs quiver and her quim drip with her displaced fluids. Akira gave her ears a stroke, pinning them back against her skull, carrying on all the way down their velvet length and onto her silken hair.

Ose's roughness was telegraphing its way up her body, making her blink and gasp, her hot breath puffing out over Akira's dick. Matching Ose's ferocity, she turned to her task with more vigour, tossing her head as she took Akira all the way to the back of her mouth. She paused there for a moment, letting her saliva coat his shaft, then with the merest gulp he was in her throat, her gullet clenching all around his cockhead and the flesh that followed it as she swallowed it down, not stopping until her pink, rabbity nose was twitching against his pubes.

Futaba pulled right back, huffing for breath, strings of drool connecting Akira's cock and her mouth.

"C'mon," she said, her voice thick. She clutched at Akira's hands, positioned them either side of her head. "Fucking wreck me. Nnn-" she twisted around, glancing at Ose "- and that goes for both of you."

Ose snarled at the affront to his prowess, and brought his hand down with a muffled smack on her flank, making her yelp. Her taunt had the desired effect, though, as he bent himself over her and took her with all his might, his cock audibly slamming into her pussy, each thrust forcing a squeak from her voicebox. As he'd been ordered, Akira took the initiative. He scooped up Futaba's ears, holding them loosely in one hand, while with the other he grabbed the back of her head and forced her onto his cock.

She coughed and gagged, overwhelmed by what she'd demanded, and tears sprang to her eyes. Concerned, he pulled back a bit, but she waved a frantic hand at him and, getting the message, he plunged back into her throat, holding his dick there until she started to splutter and struggle. Akira drew back, allowed her to inhale a heaving lungful of air, then took her mouth again, tugging her forward by her ears until she squealed. In pulling herself off him, Futaba impaled herself on Ose's cock down to the root, and her moans joined his roars, his barbs, no doubt, scratching a deep-down itch, sparking off nerves that in this reality were attuned only to pleasure.

Ose and Akira shuttled Futaba between them, Persona to human, predators with prey that delighted in their predation. Akira's pleasure surged up and overcame him in one great clump, and with his unexpected orgasm whiting out his mind he came straight down Futaba's throat, bloating her belly with his unnaturally voluminous cum. She swallowed it down without a moment's hesitation, and while she was doing so, Ose yowled, shivered against her, and spatters of white dripped down between her legs. Neither Akira nor Ose faltered for a moment. Futaba's desire kept them hard and lustful, and they kept on fucking her from both ends. She climaxed as Ose rubbed his first load into her walls, and again - from pure psychological stimulus, Akira guessed - as he pulled out and painted her face with his jizz.

Even the metaverse had its limits, and Akira was definitely starting to feel drained. But as he looked down into her pleading eyes, and felt her run her tongue across his semen-sticky cockhead, and most importantly listened to his heart as it pumped a fresh cargo of libido-infused blood into his system, he found it in himself to shove his prick back into her mouth. He plunged down into her throat, facefucking her in a way that, frankly, neither of them would have dared to try in real life. Here, though, she could take herself to the point of passing out and never pass it, here she could let herself rock between two thick cocks and feel nothing but the sweetness of her submission. Ose roared a second time, a third time, Futaba climaxing with him, a cataract of his seed falling between his legs, and Akira poured yet more of his into her belly and, in his spasms, pulled out of her mouth and sent a spurt arcing out over her back, marking her from butt to neck. He locked eyes with Ose, thief saluting warrior, and saw respect in that fierce gaze.

They were done. Ose, finally limp-dicked, flopped out of Futaba's dripping cunt with one last grumble, disappointed that he could no longer toy with his prey. Akira, likewise, pulled himself from Futaba's maw and shoved his softening prick up against her face, demanding that she lick it clean. She busied herself with it for half a minute, enthusiastically slurping her way across its surface, then straightened up and turned to Ose. 

"Not bad, kitty man," she said, appraising his naked, spent form.

"Careful, little rabbit," he said with a growl, or I shall devour you more fully."

"Well, maybe next time."

"Hmmph," said Ose. He turned to Akira. "I thank you for your summoning, O Joker. It was not quite the battle I expected, but it was almost as pleasurable. Be it love or war, you may call upon me again."

With that, he faded as he'd arrived, in a flash of blue flame.

Smiling and sated, with the fur around her legs, her butt and her face all spiked up and sticky with cum, Futaba ran her hand through her hair, smoothing down her ears. She glitched, and a moment later was human again. Cleaned up, too, although Akira noticed that this time she'd left some of Ose's seed clinging to her pussy lips, and as he watched a little drop of it leaked out of her and splashed to the floor. 

"Man, that was intense," she said. "Think I've got one more in me and that's it." 

Akira nodded. His last climax had been accompanied by the faint ache of too much demand on his balls too quickly. "I guess even this place can't keep us going forever." 

"So, anything else you'd like to see me in before we uh, finish up?"

Akira paused, shy all of a sudden. "Well," he said, "I always liked that outfit you used to wear in the winter. You know, with the jacket, and the boots."

Futaba smiled, blurred for a moment. Local reality reshaped itself to her desires, and she stood, fully dressed again, in an army-green parka with a ruff of fur around the collar, a white t-shirt splashed with red, and khaki cargo pants. Plus the requisite big, black, clompy boots. Bigger, these days, and clompier. Her glasses reappeared over her eyes, too.

"You know this is pretty much what I still wear, right? Different colours and designs, maybe, but I've got a whole drawer full of these pants."

"I know. That's why I like it."

She rolled her eyes, but looked pleased all the same.

"And how about me?" he asked. "Do I get a new look?"

Futaba concentrated. Akira felt something settle around his shoulders, fabric cascading down his front. He looked down at himself. She'd given him a green apron exactly like the one he wore when he was minding LeBlanc. And nothing else.

"Perfect," Futaba purred. She held out her arm for him. "Shall we, Joker?"

"We shall, Oracle."

Arm in arm, they made their sedate way over to the bed and sat down on its edge, holding hands and gradually entwining legs, though Akira, not wishing to have his tibias fractured by Futaba's fearsome toe caps, was doing most of the entwining. Considering their previous activities, they kissed quite chastely, lips fluttering together, tongues only occasionally the odd, flirtatious dart against their opposite number. Merely holding his love was enough to arouse Akira, though, and with recent memory and ideas about what might come next spinning on the reels of his mind, he'd soon set up a sizeable one-pole tent in the area of his apron that covered his lap.

Futaba noticed, and curled her hand around said pole, gripping it tight through the thick cloth. She didn't rub it, as such, just held it, letting her thumb circle his glans until he had to groan and lean back, his eyes slipping shut. He had a weak point, and she knew it. When he looked again it was to see an expression of smug satisfaction on her face and a little dark stain on the apron, which gradually widened under her ministrations. He threw his arms around her, catching her by surprise, and she laughed as he went down with her to the mattress, the two of them rolling and tumbling over one another. They wrestled for position until they were panting and red faced, and Akira did end up with bruises on his shins. It was worth it.

By unspoken agreement, the two of them found themselves in the spooning position they tended to adopt when they'd had a tiring day, when they wanted nothing more than closeness and warmth and comfortable, well-worn love. Akira's erection prodded Futaba's butt, and she squirmed back against him, trapping it between them. He sighed, slowly, brushing away her hair so he could nibble at her earlobe, then slid his hands down her body. One crossed the waistband of her pants, rode up onto her hip, squeezed, while the other lifted her shirt hem and slowly stroked its way up her smooth belly. With the hand on her leg, Akira moved down to her crotch, just brushing it for now, and insinuated his way in between her thighs, only gradually ramping up the pressure until her could feel the heat radiating from her privates. He trailed his fingers up her pubis, flicked open her pants' fastenings, took hold of her zipper. Mustering his willpower, he made himself unzip her with excruciating graduality, drawing out the anticipation until it almost snapped. Meanwhile, with his other hand, he tunnelled under her shirt to find her bare breast, to which he gave a swift, 'I'll be back' fondle before he dipped down again.

With Futaba's pants loose around her waist, Akira hooked his thumbs beneath the band, holding them steady while she wriggled out of them. He pulled them down to just below her knees, then slid his hands up her thighs and clasped her butt through cute blue-and-white striped panties, massaging it for a moment before he once again split his attention between her boobs and her pussy. She gave herself to him, lifting her shirt to bare her petite chest, shivering in delight as he scooped up her tits, carefully tweaking her nipples between thumb and forefinger, dragging her breasts out and letting them bounce back under their own elasticity, one, then the other. Below, she raised her leg for him as best she could without getting tangled up in her trousers, giving him the few centimetres he needed to slide in and drag his fingertip down her slit, moulding her already-soaked underwear to her contours. Even her clit stood out under the translucent, skin tight fabric, and she clamped her jaw shut, legs and arms tensing, moaning through her sealed lips as he circled ever closer to it, perpetually on the point of touching it but never actually doing so.

She relaxed as he pulled his hand away, and helped him tug down her panties, rolling the waistband down her bum. When he peeled them away from her groin, a rope of her juices and Ose's leftover cum came away with them, linking fabric and flesh.

"Sloppy seconds?" he asked, quietly.

"Give it a try," she murmured back. "I can always clean up if we don't like it."

Akira kissed Futaba's cheek, aiming to reassure her that if she wanted to try it then he absolutely did too. He rubbed two fingers along her mound, parting her folds, and wormed them into her, finding her boiling hot and wonderfully slippery inside. She groaned and reached behind herself, laying her arm along his flank urging him to hold her closer. His cockhead brushed her lips, and he felt her shiver, trembling against him in anticipation. With absolute slowness he took her, immersing himself in her loose, slippery heat, her walls closing gently around him, welcoming him back. He moaned, clinging to her, breathing in her hair and her skin, becoming one with her. Thrust by thrust, he ramped up his movements.

In this position they could make love for hours, and on one memorable occasion, they had, fuelling themselves with little snacks and drinks, taking breaks to cuddle and nap together, all while remaining connected or, at the very least, in contact. Akira didn't think they'd go for that long today, but he'd determined he was going to make their final time in this particular metaverse instance last.

Minutes passed into minutes; Akira and Futaba became creatures of sweat and sighs and sensuality. He played his hands over her, teasing her nipples, swirling a damp fingertip around her belly button, giving her clit the odd brush, to make her yelp and wriggle and tighten her pussy. Even without that stimulus, she was doing her best to keep him interested, matching his thrusts with conscious clenches of her inner muscles, bearing down on him as he dragged his cock from her.

Ose's cum dissolved in fresh floods of her juices, swirled from her quim to wick away into the blankets by the gentle but relentless pressure of his cock, until there was nothing but him and her. Bringing Personas into the mix had been fun, and exciting, but nothing compared to the closeness between them, the pleasure he gave to her and that she returned to him.

Akira's train of thought occupied a single track by the time Futaba came, focussed on his rhythm and his bliss and not reaching the terminus too soon. He was mildly surprised when Futaba humped her butt against his hips, driving him all the way into her. The tip of his prick kissed her deepest parts for a moment, then she jerked herself away, his name leaving her in a long, whispery moan of perfect satisfaction. Momentarily, her hand squeezed his side, the other gathering up a fistful of bed linen then, done, she fell limp and floppy. That left Akira to finish up, climaxing in her with a still quite impressive load, his lips at her neck, his hands on her belly.

With a sigh, he rolled over. Still embedded in her, he carried her with him, and let her rest along his torso like he was her futon. A grunt, and she stickily peeled herself off him, his semi-hard cock falling from her with a trickle of his seed. She turned herself around, draping herself across him face to face. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth, accepting her kiss, her hair falling around them.

"That," she said, tumbling off him to lie at his side, "was a pretty good trial run."

"That was just a trial?"

"Oh yeah. There's so much more we can do with this place. Wanna help me find out?"

"Naturally."

"Cool. But for now, we'd better get back before the power runs out and we're trapped forever in an endless hellish void."

Akira sat up ramrod straight. "You didn't tell me that could happen!"

"Relax, I put in safeguards. It'd probably just dump us back in the real world if the local metaverse matric collapses. Probably."

"Reassuring." Akira swung himself off the bed, held out his hand to her. She took it, and he helped her to her feet.

At a gesture from Futaba, her computers reappeared in the middle of the room, heralded by the familiar blurring, glitching and lines of eldritch code. She crouched by them, tapped in a few commands and, with something that felt like a whole body blip, she and Akira were back in the attic. The real attic, that smelled of coffee, dust, and overlaying those older smells, the ozone scent of cooling electronics. The two of them were clean and dry, with not a hint of their otherworldly exploits clinging to them, save from the ache of their exertions and the echoes of their bliss.

"Convenient," Akira commented, holding up his arm and scrutinising the unrumpled white cotton of his shirt.

"Yep," Futaba agreed, distractedly, busy with the final shutdown procedure. The computers' fans stilled, the faint whine of voltage flowing through the various cables ceased.

"Are you going to leave it all set up?"

"Oh yeah. Putting it together was a real pain. We can leave it shut down when we've got the place open."

Akira nodded. "Alright. Well let's go and think up some ideas for next time."

Smiling, Futaba took his hand, and together they left the attic and descended to the sleeping cafe, leaving behind them the doorway to their own little world.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Anoynmous for this one! You can follow me at:
> 
> twitter.com/geistygeist  
> geistygeist.tumblr.com (Will pornhub restore it to its former state? Quite the faustian bargain)


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